Hermione Granger vs the Epilogue
by Eumenidies
Summary: Five years after the battle of Hogwarts, a random encounter drives Hermione to change her future. I own nothing, anything you recognise belongs to JKR. M just in case I get sweary...


A changeable month, unsettled with thundery rain at times, hot at end.

Met Office Report, May 2003

Hermione had always suffered from pressure headaches when a thunderstorm was due, and this Friday, crammed into the Ministry's mid-size reception room with over a thousand noisy, sweaty, drunk, morons was certainly no exception. Pinching the bridge of her nose and sighing, Hermione wondered whether it was down to Ministerial penny-pinching that they were crammed into this smaller room, or if they had been hoping that five years after the famed 'Battle of Hogwarts' people would have moved on, and the anniversary could be quietly swept under the carpet.

Whatever their thinking, the Ministry had once again been wrong, and here they all were again, celebrating, commemorating and drinking themselves stupid.

It wasn't that she had a problem with the annual celebration as such, it was more that she'd had a sneaking suspicion for months now, that there was meant to be more to her life than this. She was sure that she'd been meant to shine, to be something, someone. To make a difference. Right now, she was someone who shuffled paper for a living, collected her salary and did the same thing again the next day. And the next. And the next. Rinse and repeat.

This was ridiculous. She had simply had too much to drink and was feeling maudlin. Her life was fine. She was only twenty-three; she had decades yet to make a difference in the world. She should be glad of the peace after the chaos and adventure and passion of her school years.

She sighed.

Air. She needed air,

She nudged the boy next to her. Man, now, she supposed. Although boy was still the word that came to mind when you looked at him, particularly as he was right this second, blinking owlishly and grinning slightly foolishly at her.

'Hey, Harry? I need some air. Could you let Ron know where I am if he asks?' _If he asks..._

Harry's grin widened and he attempted a clumsy bow.

'For you, my lady, anything.'

'Prat.'

'But you love me, anyway.'

'Always. Now sit down before you fall over.'

At least that much of her life still felt right. Harry would always be there for her, and would always make her smile. God, had she always been such a kill joy?

She glanced at herself in the reflection from a window. Hair as usual (she would never understand the obsession some people had with the texture of her hair – it was just _hair_ for crying out loud!) clothes, well they didn't really suit her, but she'd never really found a style that felt like it fitted her; crease between her brows from too much frowning. Yuck.

Her attention shifted to the reflection of Ron behind her; riding on Dean's shoulders and pretending to joust against Neville, who was on Seamus' back. They all seemed so care-free and happy and loud and young. And Ron. He was so very dear, so very precious to her.

She gave herself a shake and pushed her way through the clinging crowds, slipping through a window onto a deserted balcony. She stared out over wizarding London and took a deep breath.

'So, it's you.'

Ah. Not a deserted balcony.

Hermione spun to face one of the people she was least ready to deal with, on this or any night.

'The girl. The girl with the clouded soul who doesn't believe.'

'Good evening, Professor Trelawney, you are looking... well.' _Drunk._

There, in an alcove, half hidden by ivy, sat Hermione's least favourite former teacher, bottle in hand and a collection of empties around her feet in silent attestation to her probable condition.

'Nonsense girl, you think I look drunk and crazy as usual. Well let me tell you something, now that you are no longer the innocent little naïf you once were; you'd spend your life half sloshed if you'd been granted my _gift._ '

Hermione was surprised by both the bitterness in the older woman's tone, and by the surprising lack of over-acting. Intrigued, she walked closer to the alcove.

'Yes, I could always see that you would prefer the unvarnished truth of things; but could you really handle it, girl? Could you really face seeing constant images of all the possible futures? Bombarding you day and night? People prefer their prophecy to be sugar-coated and vague; particularly children and that sanctimonious old Dumblebore. I tried to warn your idiot friend for years that the only way for him was to die, but he never listened. You all just thought I was playing silly games didn't you?'

Hermione moved closer still, taking a seat in the alcove.

'Is it really like that? Constant images of possible futures?'

The older woman smirked. 'Not so much these days. Your friend got things all tied down nice and tight. He's not a big fan of change disrupting his peaceful life, is Harry. Haven't you noticed that things seem to be sort of stuck? That nothing really seems to be changing?'

'I just thought that was normal? Isn't this how life is meant to be? And what's so wrong with wanting a peaceful life, anyway?'

'Nothing, my dear, if that's what you really want. That was a powerful piece of magic your friend pulled, dying for us all like that. It put us all under an obligation to him, not that he realises it, but his desire for peace, for quiet, is gently tying the whole world into one path for him. An obligation is a powerful tie on magical folk. You could break this for us, he wants you to be happy more than you can possibly imagine, and if he truly saw how unhappy you are, he'd release the obligation on all of us.'

Hermione shook her head and pulled back. 'No. You're talking nonsense, just as always. Harry would never do something like that. And just what makes you think I'm unhappy, anyway? Maybe I like my life and the way it's heading.'

She leapt from her seat, meaning to head back into the reception, only to find her wrist grabbed in a surprisingly strong grip. Trelawney's glasses glinted at her with a strange blue light.

'No, my dear, stagnation is not the answer for any of us, and that much unhappiness can only lead to Dark. To a boil like Voldemort that will need lancing in death and pain and loss. I will not let that happen again. You _will_ see.'

Hermione felt the older woman's cold hand on her forehead, pressing her back down onto the seat, but found herself strangely powerless to resist. Iridescent beige hexagons swirled on the edges of her vision, closing in, swallowing her...

 _Autumn seemed to arrive suddenly that year. The morning of the first of September was as crisp and golden as an apple..._

'Really? Even in a dream vision your similes are this trite? Apples aren't golden...'

'Quiet, child. Focus.'

 _...obscured by thick, white steam that was pouring from the scarlet Hogwarts Express..._

'Well, I don't see how this never changing can be that bad...'

'Silence.'

 _...Their faces only came into focus when Harry, Ginny, Lily and Albus had drawn right up to them..._

'Dear God! What am I wearing?! I'm dressed like bloody Molly!'

 _'Hermione didn't believe I could pass a Muggle driving test, did you? She thought I'd have to Confund the examiner...'_

'Jeez, thanks, Ron! Way to make me sound like an unsupportive nag. Oh, and an idiot too, it seems? You did it anyway, just to save face from your oh, so terrifying nag of a wife, eh?!'

 _...they found Lily and Hugo, Rose's younger brother..._

'Seriously? Rose and Hugo? Could we have found anything more stolidly middle-class and dull? Ugh!'

 _All was well._

Hermione wrenched herself free from Trelawney's grasp and stood in front of her, chest heaving and eyes blazing.

'Oh, HELL no.'


End file.
